


Enough

by twilight_shades



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dreamsharing, M/M, Neglect, Post-Canon, Running Away, Writers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 04:58:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11616363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilight_shades/pseuds/twilight_shades
Summary: Arthur’s done.





	Enough

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Do not own. Complete fiction.

Arthur looks around LAX, watches Cobb head off, smiles politely and purposefully blankly at Ariadne, gives a tiny blink-and-you’ll-miss-it nod to Eames. He looks down at the case in his hand and thinks, “Done.” Then Arthur walks out of the airport and disappears.

Arthur has many different contingency plans for many different things. Several of which involved leaving dreamshare work behind. He still has a PASIV and he’s learned how to brew a rudimentary Somnacin compound out of relatively common ingredients, mostly (he’s learned to cultivate the uncommon ones). One can leave the work behind, but the dreaming, well that’s much harder to give up, maybe impossible. He’s seen a few dreamshare workers retire and then come right back to it after a few months while others have ended up somewhere like Yusuf’s dream den.

Arthur’s kept a few clean identities up – taxes, bills, credit scores – given them paper trails that extend for years. He had been pretty sure at the time that he would have used them to run or hide from someone or some entity (a corporation, an agency, a government, etc.) that was after him. He’s not sure just walking away had ever really occurred to him.

~~~

Arthur had been a surprise to his parents, born to two rather absent-minded academics in their early forties. They had loved him, but hadn’t really known what to do with him. In their benign neglect, he’d grown up to be very self-sufficient. He’d wound up chasing perfection to try to get their attention, which he’d eventually given up on as a lost cause. He’d then joined the military, partly out of sheer perversity, partly just to get as far away from who he had been as possible (it didn’t work). The dreamsharing project had been wonderful… and terrible. And then it had been taken away when all but three of the original unit that had participated had met violent and untimely ends, either at their own hands or heedlessly running into dangerous situations, causing the project to be called to a halt. So Arthur had taken himself away and found the civilian side of dreamsharing.

Arthur’s parents died in a car accident not long after that and while he had loved them and he mourned them, there was also this feeling of resentment that clung to his sadness, making him feel guilty and then bitter. His parents had left Arthur fairly well-off (his parents had only been comfortable, but had had fairly good life insurance policies). Arthur knows that their friend Margo, an estate lawyer, is probably the only reason they even thought to have wills with him as their inheritor, to make it easier on him. She had been a very pragmatic woman and had liked him for his sense of order, giving him his first job in high school – he helped to catalogue items from someone’s estate. She had been the only one of his parents’ group of friends to really see him as a person and not an adjunct to his parents. She had died of a heart attack just before he had graduated. He’d attended her memorial and accepted her ashes. He’d spread them around the Mr. Lincoln roses, her favorite, at the arboretum she’d liked to visit.

A few months after his parents’ deaths, Arthur had met the Cobbs. They were passionate and reckless. It was exhilarating to be around, even if he was trying to be the grounding force, an anchor. But the simulated violence in dreamsharing was desensitizing. He got used to it, he expected it, he thrived at it. He followed them, keeping them in check (sort of), keeping everything running smoothly, chasing perfection as their point man. Mal’s death didn’t give him pause. At first, it was because it didn’t quite seem real, she was still there in the dreams, if more vicious. Then later, it was because he didn’t have time. It wasn’t until he realized that Cobb could get them all killed in the dream that he became aware of what he had been doing - trying to get two people who cared more about other things to pay attention to him. He’d realized then, even as his mind had worked through scenario after scenario, that he wasn’t ever going to be good enough, perfect enough, or, hell, just… enough. He wasn’t chasing perfection, he was chasing ghosts, just as surely as Cobb was. Still, he had had a job to do, and he had done it. And then it had been over. And he had been done.

~~~

Arthur had never been that attached to his last name, but he had gotten used to ‘Arthur’. And even though it was a common enough name, he couldn’t keep it. But he did go with an identity that sounded close to it for both practicality and comfort. He became Carter Lew (he’d been a lieutenant long enough that he still had an automatic response to hearing ‘Lieu’). 

For a long time, Carter Lew had been a researcher. During downtimes in the dreamshare business, Arthur would compile information for biographies, textbooks, articles, historical fiction, etc. under the Carter identity. He’d also been a stock analyst (Aaron Beemer), a bookkeeper (Bartholomew Wright), and a technical editor (Martin Massey), things he could slip into and out of fairly easily.

But somehow, Carter goes from researcher to writer. In a way, it’s because of dreamsharing. His research invades his constructed dreams - he builds empires that have long fallen, resurrects people who have long passed, interacts with history, and then writes about it after the kick. One of the authors he works with, Bianca, gets a glimpse of his notebook and asks if she can read it. He shrugs, not fussed about it, there’s never anything incriminating in the notes he leaves lying around. She reads it right there and then asks if she can take it to her publisher. He blinks at her and gives her the go-ahead, thinking she must have been inspired by something in it. But no, she’s actually excited about his writing, and then suddenly he (stick-in-the-mud Arthur) is getting a book published.

~~~

He’s not exactly happy, but he is happier. He misses the dreamsharing work, well, some of it anyway. And, he finds, he misses Dom a little. He also misses Mal, after he actually processes her death, though not being maimed or tortured or killed by her projection certainly doesn’t hurt. To his surprise, he realizes that he misses Eames. Eames, while firmly in the not-enemy category and very good at his job, was always a little bit of an irritant to Arthur, taking extra mental resources to deal with. But, well, maybe Arthur had liked the challenge of it.

Eames had defied a great many of Arthur’s mind’s attempts to categorize him – he’d slid from ally to friendly acquaintance to almost-confidante to friendly rival to competitor to distant colleague and back again, not-enemy being the only consistent one. And then there was the flirting and the snarking and the derision and Arthur could never decide how much of it was real. Sure, Arthur had been attracted, but given his dismal record at relationships (Arthur knew he held himself a distance and even though he’d been upfront about it, there had been issues with it in all [three] of his serious relationships), the complication of working together (he’d tried that once, never again), and his uncertainty about Eames possibly actively disliking him, well, nothing had ever happened.

Arthur thinks about checking up on Eames, but decides not to. Arthur has always been very good at putting his feelings in boxes and packing them away to deal with later (or not). Which is why Arthur has no earthly idea what to do when he walks into a meeting with his publisher, Michael, and Eames is sitting there next him at the conference table, a sharp smile on his face and fury in his eyes.

~~~

“Carter,” Michael greets him with a smile. He gestures to Eames, “This is Charles Erickson. He works for Marinus Productions.”

Arthur nods at Eames, doing his best not to let his shock show. Fortunately, he’s very good at that.

“Mr… Lew, Marinus is interested in talking about optioning ‘The Empire Is Falling’,” Eames says, his British accent lighter than his actual one. He has a charming smile on, but the anger is still clear in his eyes, to Arthur, at least.

Arthur is not sure what to say, he looks to Michael, an eyebrow raised.

“You don’t have to decide right now, this is just a preliminary meeting. Just let it percolate for a few days, ask a few questions,” Michael says.

“Yes, wouldn’t want to rush into anything,” Eames says.

Michael tells him a little about optioning and how it works with Eames adding a little, here and there. After a few minutes, Michael takes his leave to let ‘Mr. Erickson’ talk to ‘Carter’, probably thinking the charming ‘Mr. Erickson’ might have better luck convincing his rather stubborn author without Michael there.

Eames waits a few seconds after the door closes behind Michael before turning to Arthur. “So, _Carter_ , cat got your tongue?”

“I’m not sure what you want me to say, Mr. Erickson.”

“Well, for the last four years I’ve been sort of desperate for an ‘I’m not dead’, but that could’ve been avoided by a ‘Goodbye, planning never to see you miserable lot again’ at the airport, so I suppose what I want right now is an ‘I’m sorry’,” Eames snaps.

Arthur blinks at him, taken aback. “I didn’t know you cared.”

Eames glares at him. Then he frowns and tilts his head, studying Arthur. “You actually mean that. You actually, really do mean that. Of course I care.” Eames gets up and paces the room. “I’ve tried every possible way to get you to focus in on me – flirting, sarcasm, biting wit, teasing, violence. They sometimes net me your notice and sometimes you just brush me aside. You rarely condescend to pay me your full attention.”

Arthur laughs, though it’s more pained than amused.

Eames stops pacing abruptly and his gaze snaps to meet Arthur’s.

“I always wanted my parents’ attention,” Arthur says, looking past Eames. “Even after they were gone, I chased after it.”

Eames makes a questioning noise. Arthur focuses back on him and he looks confused.

“Cobb. Mal. They were substitutes, stand-ins, I guess. Only I didn’t realize it for a long time. And I tired so hard to be the perfect son, point man, whatever. It was never going to work, what I wanted didn’t exist, not really. So, I’m sorry, if you felt like I didn’t- like I wasn’t- I’m sorry. I did pay attention, to you, maybe not always, but you, you’re very… noticeable. I just wasn’t sure what you wanted. And when I thought maybe you might want, I don’t know, more than whatever we were, well, I’ve never really been enough, I mean, I’ve never been able give people what they’ve needed,” Arthur stutters out, grimacing at his inarticulateness.

“Oh, Arthur,” Eames sighs, looking at him sadly.

“Don’t, don’t look at me that way, Eames. I’m not a pathetic little puppy who needs to be cuddled,” Arthur says sharply.

“Well, you aren’t pathetic.” Eames smirks at the glare Arthur throws him. “But, darling, I do think you need to be cuddled. Well cuddled and often.”

“Eames.”

Eames blithely ignores the warning note in Arthur’s voice as he usually does. “Now then, you did say something about how noticeable I am, which, yes, I am, but really, dear Arthur, you honestly did not seem to. Notice me, I mean.” And Eames actually bats his eyes at Arthur as he walks back over to the table. Eames sits down near him and looks at Arthur like he’s waiting for him to elaborate.

Arthur rolls his eyes and huffs out a breath. “You like both cats and dogs. Texture is more important to you than color. You will always look for a four-leaf clover when there is clover around. You like the heat, but don’t truly mind the rain. You actually like that horrible instant coffee. You hate feeling restricted. You prefer blue ink to black. You don’t like golf. You like Stevenson and Verne, but cannot get into Fleming. You think there is something wrong with a person if they’ve never had the impulse to take something that didn’t belong to them. You like grapes, but don’t like grape-flavored candy. You don’t like blue balloons because they’re harder to see in the sky. Tuesdays are your favorite day.”

Eames is smiling widely by the time Arthur gets to the end of his list, and there’s something like amazement in his eyes. He reaches out and grabs a hold of Arthur’s hands. “Do you know why Tuesdays are my favorite?”

Arthur shakes his head.

“I met you on a Tuesday.”

Arthur’s not sure what to do with that and just blinks at Eames.

“Arthur, you are ridiculously buttoned-down, in all sort of ways, but you are enough. _You_ are what I need, however I can get you. So, I would be ever so grateful if you would just give us a chance. Say you will. Let me take you out to eat. Or for coffee. Or to a show, the zoo, anywhere.”

Arthur stares at Eames, not sure if he can believe that he will be enough. Somehow, though, “Okay,” pops out of his mouth.

“Okay?”

He nods slowly. “We can try. But no zoo.”

Eames squeezes his hands. “Well, then, no zoo. There is a rather delightful optical illusion exhibit at the science museum, would that be acceptable?”

Arthur raises an eyebrow.

“Yes, alright, I looked up some things in the area that might entice you, just in case.”

Arthur smiles. “Planning ahead is always acceptable Mr. Eames.”

Eames laughs.

“How did you find me, anyway? Saito?”

“No. Marinus is part of Proclus, but I just talked him into letting me use it as cover, though, wait,” Eames says, and pulls one of his hands away, takes a card from his pocket, and hands it over, “Here. Saito likes your book and does want to option it. You should call this fellow and talk to him about it. I actually found you by accident. There was a press picture of you at an event last week. You were mostly turned away, but I apparently know even the back of your head pretty well,” he finishes, a little self-mockingly.

Arthur shrugs a little. “I would probably recognize yours, too.” Arthur licks his lips and warns, “I don’t think I want to go back to working in dreamsharing, I still dream like that, but I don’t think that life was really right for me, at least not the way it was. And I’m not an easy person to be with. I’m just not.”

“I don’t want you to do something you don’t want to do. I haven’t been taking that many jobs myself lately. Perhaps it is time to forge a new way, so to speak. And dear Arthur, really, when have you ever known me to like things easy? I need to be challenged. And so do you, I think. Let us challenge each other.”

Arthur takes a deep breath and lets it out. “I think I’d like that.”

Eames smiles brightly and pulls Arthur’s hand up to his mouth and kisses it. “I know I shall.”

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you find any typos or if the format is messed up or if you think I need any tags.


End file.
